


For the Price of a Cup of Coffee

by cgner



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Jily Trope Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7472916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cgner/pseuds/cgner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is wrong with Lily's brain. She's not sure what, but nothing good comes out of waking up in a hospital bed with no memory of how you got there. To make matters worse, the messy-haired Healer who shows up doesn't seem to know anything about Healing - he's pretty attractive, though, so that's something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Price of a Cup of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from Ayesha, who wanted fic like that post-anesthetic YouTube guy going, "holy shit you're my wife!!" Thanks, Karaline, for your beta work!

Waking up was a battle.

Lily clawed against the thick cotton that kept her mind firmly trapped asleep, but her brain kept tricking her, kept sending her visions of her awake and doing normal things like brushing her teeth. The visions weren't true, she _knew_  they weren't true, but she kept slipping and believing them, just for a few seconds. Then she'd remember,  _I need to wake up_ , and she'd rip and tear until her brain sent her another tidy image that made her believe she had, in fact, already woken up.

She'd gone through perhaps four or five of these cycles—sleep was so slow and so fast and so _tricky_ —before she finally punched through.

Her eyes opened. For real, this time.

She drew in a deep breath. Finally. _Finally._

Then she drew in a sharp breath.

She had never considered herself a connoisseur of ceilings. If someone had asked her to describe the ceiling in her childhood bedroom, she would have had no answer to offer other than "white," and possibly "in need of a fresh coat of paint."

This ceiling was white, too. It could have been a ceiling anywhere. Really, she thought, it was the unnaturally chemical smell of antiseptic that tipped her off. 

Also that whole hospital room setup around her.

She began to sit up, propping herself up on her elbows, but that triggered all sorts of new, weird fuzziness in her brain. She let herself lie back down for a minute, pinching herself so she wouldn't get smothered by the persistent fog of sleep threatening to roll back in. Then she gingerly made another attempt to sit, this time succeeding. She adjusted her pillow behind her and let her back rest against the wall.

With sleep firmly tucked away, anxiety crept in. After all, nothing good had ever preceded someone waking up in a strange hospital room with no memory of how they'd got there.

If she were in Muggle hospital, there'd be a chart at the end of her bed – and there was something peeking over the edge, now that she looked for it. If only it weren't so very far away. If only her body weren't so very weak. By her estimate, she wouldn't be able to reach it for at least three minutes.

At least her body seemed to be intact. She wiggled her fingers and toes, shifted her limbs. Nothing pinched, nothing ached, nothing seemed to be bleeding.

Nothing seemed to be wrong at all.

Except...it wasn't that something was _wrong,_ really. It was just that her brain wasn't functioning quite how it was supposed to. She couldn't pinpoint precisely how her mind should have been working. She couldn't even nail down what, exactly, was so unusual. It just felt...weird.

And, if she were being honest with herself, not good. 

She started at the click of the door opening, but relaxed when it was just a man in lime green Healer robes.

A very fit man with a disaster of black hair, a long nose, and a paper coffee cup in one hand.  
  
She sat up straighter.

He jerked to a stop in the doorway, still clutching the handle. This was rapidly followed by a grin stretching across his face.

A very nice grin, she noticed. He had good teeth. Lily had always liked good teeth.

"Good," he said. "You know I hate waiting."

"And I hate sleeping forever," she said, "so this definitely qualifies as win-win."

She'd often thought the most disorienting thing about magical hospital rooms was the lack of machinery. There was no steady beeping or chirping, no readouts to tell her whether she should be worried about something. Just a series of colored lights floating overhead in some complicated code only Healers bothered to memorize.

The man didn’t check either her chart or the lights, but instead dropped into the worn fabric chair beside her, kicking his feet up on the edge of the bed.

This did not bode well. 

First, he had terrible bedside manners for a health professional. Second, he was clearly not here for a routine check on her, but to discuss something more serious, like how a procedure they'd done had gone horribly awry.

Third, that cocky, beaming look on his face was hurting Lily in an emotional sort of way.

"Alright, Evans?" he asked, and took a sip of his coffee.

"Everything seems fine," she said, "except my head feels a little...off."

"That'll probably fade."

"You're awfully confident."

He lifted his cup at her. "Always."

She waited for him to elaborate: on her prognosis, on the procedure, on basically anything.

Instead, he asked, in a defensive sort of way, "What?"

"What do you mean, what?"

"I mean, what's that look for?"

"This look is me trying to politely say _why the bloody hell aren't you telling me what happened_. I don't remember how I got here."

"Oh, _shite_." He pulled his feet off the bed. "Sorry, I just assumed—but it was your head... Right. Um. What happened. From my understanding, some spells mixed, or collided, and you somehow got the brunt of them and hit your head—I wasn't there, I just heard the story from Sirius. You'll have to ask him."

Yes, that was right, she'd been somewhere with Sirius—but where, doing what—

"He brought you here," the man said, "and they managed to fix you up all right. They said everything went smoothly—except I may have, er, panicked _slightly_ , and got booted out of the room—but that's irrelevant, I think, to how the procedure actually went."

"You _panicked_?"

"There may have been some shouting. Possibly some flailing. It was all very hurried, who could really say what happened?"

Lily laughed, and then covered her mouth. "You're not very good at this at all, are you?"

"I'm used to bloody wounds, not—this."

He was shifting Healer assignments, then. That was a little more understandable.

"I'm certainly no expert either," she said, "but I do think it's customary for someone in your position to act with maybe even a modicum of maturity."

His lips quirked. "Well, your mind's certainly up and running, at least."

"I should hope so. This would be quite the disappointing dream otherwise."

"Oh?" he said, intrigued. 

"Yes, well," she said, and threw caution into the wind, because why not? She would be requesting a competent Healer soon enough, so there'd be no conflict of interest. "I usually like my dreams with good-looking men in them to have a _slightly_  different mood." 

One corner of his mouth tugged back. "No doubts about it, then. You're definitely feeling all right." He stood up and looked toward the door. "I'll go sign you out. D'you want to grab a coffee before we go?"

"Er," she said.

She'd expected a little more back and forth before one of them asked the other out. A little more confirmation that they were both interested—but he had said he was always confident....

"Yes to coffee," she said, "but shouldn't we wait until your shift is over?"

"Shift?"

"I assume your workplace isn't in the habit of letting people walk off whenever they feel like it."

He said nothing, just studied her for a few moments.

Then, slowly, he said, "Lily?"

"Yes?"

"What's my name?"

"Er...oh. You didn't mention it, I don't think, but that's probably a good step to take, isn't it?"

He sank back down, staring heavily at his coffee. 

"Oh," he said. Then he looked up at her, a different sort of smile settling into place. "You don't know my name."

"Yes, we _did_  just cover that."

"D'you know who I am?"

"And I thought I was the one with a head injury. It's hardly a real barrier – you could just tell me your name."

"D'you remember the last time you saw me?"

She tilted her head. "Have we met before?"

He leaped out of his seat, flinging his hands proudly in the air. "You said yes!" he said, as coffee rained down over him and the bed.

"What the hell are you—"

He crowed a laugh at the ceiling and then pointed at her with his free hand. "You said yes you said yes you said _yes!_ "

She reached for the box of tissues next to the bed. "What is _wrong_  with you—"

"And you didn't even know my _name_. I mean, _honestly,_ Evans, I knew you could be a hussy sometimes, but _really—_ "

Lily dabbed the tissue at her face, soaking up the drops of coffee that had splattered onto her, while her mind struggled to find a connection—surely she would remember someone like this—surely she would remember befriending the world's worst Healer—

"Am I on some sort of prank show?" she asked, setting the tissue aside. "Because I definitely don't consent to this—"

He dropped back into the seat, eyes alight, and set the empty cup to the floor. He propped his elbows on his knees as he leaned toward her. 

"Right," he said. "Let's get this settled quickly. You agreed to coffee, but would you have kissed me? After it was over, I mean."

Lily frowned at him and began searching for some sort of call button.

" _Lily_ ," he said. "I need to know, all right?"

"I need to know how to call for help, but you're not exactly helping me, are you?"

She began shifting toward the edge of the bed – she was feeling more awake now, yes, and stronger, she could do this, she could go get her own bloody help—

"I need to know," he said solemnly, "if you were going to put out. I mean, it's only fair to me—"

Her hand twitched, ready to reach for a wand that wasn’t there—and of course now was the one time she didn’t have it, right when she needed it—

"You are _sick_ ," she said, settling her feet on the ground. Yes, it seemed they would hold her weight.

"Oh, Lily, no, don't—here—"

He rushed around the bed to grasp her arm.

She tried to wrench it away from him. " _Stop_ it, don't _touch_  me—"

"No, Lily—ah, shite. Lily. Look at me."

" _No_ ," she said, and cursed him for being stronger than him, she knew fifty-odd jinxes she could use right now—

But he had a wand. He had to have a wand. Even the world's worst Healer had a wand—

She thrust her other hand forward into his pocket.

" _Woah_ , Lily, this isn't really the place—oh, fuck, _no,_ Lily—"

She brandished the wand at him, which did get him to take a step back, his hands raised in the air.

" _You_ ," she said, "are a regular _pervert_ , I can't believe the psychological tests didn't screen you out of the medical profession—"

He glanced down. " _Fuck_ , Lily, I'm not—these are _borrowed_ , I spilled on mine – during the panicking, remember? And I'm not a _pervert_ , I'm your bloody husband!"

Lily stared at him. "You spilled on yourself twice in one day?"

"Yes, well spotted, _that's_ the weirdest thing about this whole situation. I mean, _Christ_. Do you honestly not remember me?"

She shook the wand at him. "I think I would remember my own wedding!"

"You don't even remember last night! Isn't that proof that your mind is all wonky?"

"Well, yes, but I haven't got—" She glanced down to see a very tasteful diamond glittering on her finger. "Oh."

"Yes, _oh_. You picked it out yourself, you know."

She was married.

She was _married_.

Also she clearly had some problems with her memory. That was clearly the more worrisome point of the two, but also—

She took in the man's appearance again, this time assessing.

Her lips pursed, pulling from side to side, and then settled. She gave a curt nod, her lips now curving into a smile.

"What?" he said. "D'you remember something?"

"No. I'm just very pleased with myself, is all."

"For fondling me and stealing my wand?"

"No, because I've got a rather good-looking husband, don't I?" she mused. "Even if he is a rubbish Healer. Have I told you to look for other work?"

"Oh my _god_ , I'm not a Healer—and I'm sorry, what?"

"I bet Petunia was furious when I landed such a fit man."

“Oh. Yes. Is that where we’re going now? Not that I object, mind. I mean, yes, she’s dead jealous, both that I’m fit and that I’m rich."

Lily’s eyes widened. "You’re rich?"

"We are," he amended.

She made a small, pleased noise. "Well, the points certainly are stacking up in your favor, aren't they?"

"I always thought so! But you—anyway."

"I what?"

"I don't know why you didn't fall in love with me sooner, is all. Since, like you said, I am rich and handsome and exceptionally charming."

"I never called you charming. Much less exceptionally."

"You've got a head injury. You can't trust your memory."

She sent him a flat look.

"Hey," he said, "you agreed to get coffee with someone you thought was your _Healer_ after about two bloody minutes. That's textbook charming, and you did always love your textbooks."

"Did I marry you for your looks and money? I'm beginning to wonder. I mean, I like to think I would never be so shallow—but you are rather good looking. And how rich are you, exactly?"

"We are extremely rich."

"Hm. Nicely done, me. Two out of three isn't so bad."

"Aw, you know you find me entertaining."

"Perhaps," she allowed, savoring the smile burgeoning on his face, "in the way a trained monkey is entertaining."

"You and your animal references. Who knew they were so deeply embedded in your personality?"

"What?"

"Nevermind. Would you stop pointing that at me?"

She let the wand fall to her side, still watching him.

He wasn’t _charming_ , no. He was—fine, _entertaining_ , in a way. He certainly kept up with her well enough.

Not that she intended to tell him this. His ego hardly needed a boost.

"What’s your name, then?" she asked.

"James. Potter. Or as you like to call me, handsome devil."

"You are a needy thing, aren't you? Lucky for you, I've always liked the name James."

His eyebrows lifted. "You have, have you?"

"I should think my husband would know that about me."

"It, er, never came up."

Lily said: "Mhm. Sure."

"Look. Maybe we'd better get a real Healer in here—buuuut actually, maybe not right away. In fact, maybe you'd better sit back and relax a moment, get your strength back before we call in those idiots who messed up your mind."

She narrowed her eyes. "James—"

"And maybe, you know, it's like a concussion, where you'd better keep talking while you relax. You seem to have plenty to say about me, so if you wanted to keep talking about that, I wouldn't object. I really wouldn't."

"I can't believe I'd marry someone who thinks I'm idiotic enough to fall for that.”

"Nooo," he said, "I'm definitely slightly trained as a Healer. This is very sound medical advice I’m giving you. Please, keep talking about how handsome I am—"

"And now," she said, lifting the wand again, "I can't believe anything you've said—"

Sirius walked into the room, hands in his pockets.

"Well," he said, "at least this is better than catching you two shagging."

Lily beamed. "Sirius!"

"Sure," James muttered, " _him_ you remember."

“Why wouldn’t I remember Sirius?”

“I’m exceptionally memorable,” Sirius said as he joined them. “Unforgettable, one might even say. You’re looking well, Potter.”

But he was talking to her, not James.

“Well, damn,” she said. “Sirius, did I marry this man, or is he having me on?”

“Both, I imagine.”

She looked at James. “Then why did you keep calling me Evans?”

“Er, habit, really. We’ve got this thing—a back and forth, if you will, but you wanted to legally change—look, can we focus here?”

Sirius glanced over her. “Memory playing tricks on you?”

“She doesn’t remember me!” James squawked. “You, who didn’t even _like_ her for almost the entirety of your acquaintance. But _no_ , she remembers _you_ , god forbid she remembers the _love of her bloody life—_ ”

“Care to explain why you’re in those robes, Prongs?” Sirius asked.

“No.”

“Or why you’re covered in what smells like coffee?”

“ _No_.”

“Or why Lily has your wand?”

“D’you know, you are not being helpful in the _least_. Don’t just stand there and have a go at me – I am having a _crisis._ ”

At least she’d married someone Sirius knew well. James couldn’t be all bad, then. Sirius didn’t tolerate the company of idiots.

Except maybe this one.

Lily sat down on the bed. “I can’t believe I married such a drama queen. Sirius, are you _sure_ I married him? I could’ve bought myself this ring.”

Sirius looked at Lily, then at James, and then back to Lily. Then he said, “No, he’s absolutely not your husband, I don’t know who this charlatan is—”

“ _Padfoot_ —”

Which settled it, really, because Sirius was smirking too much to be telling the truth.

Lily sighed. “At least he’s rich. Maybe I can work on training him to be more charming.”

“Like a monkey,” Sirius offered.

“Yes, exactly. See, this is why we’re friends. Why did I marry this charlatan?”

“To be honest, I think it was the money.”

James folded his arms. “Unbelievable.” He glared at Lily. “You’re awfully calm about losing memories of your _husband._ ”

She frowned, and probed around in her mind. “I am, aren’t I? I know I’m missing things now, but it’s hard to miss them. They don’t feel missing.”

But now that James pointed it out, that was very disconcerting, wasn’t it? She really should have been panicking because she couldn’t have told them how she met Sirius, or where she lived, or what she did for a living. She knew she should know these things. Obviously she didn’t sit around in an empty room all day, every day. She had a life.

If only she could remember it.

“There is the part,” Sirius said, “where you’ve got brain damage. Minor thing. Might be mucking about with your head in other ways. But, you know, I’m no Healer. And I’m not pretending to be one, either.”

“Not _pretending_ , I _spilled_ —”

“What did the Healers say?” Sirius asked.

“Wellll,” James said.

“James was trying to trick me into complimenting him,” Lily said, “rather than actually getting help for my damaged brain.”

Sirius arched an eyebrow.

“It made sense at the time,” James said, lifting his chin. “If you actually want to be helpful, you could go get a Healer any time now.”

“Fine, fine,” Sirius said, heading for the door. “Don’t forget anything else while I’m gone.”

“Damn it, Sirius—”

Sirius waved him off, halfway out into the corridor. “Everything will be fine.”

“Bloody hope so,” James said under his breath.

He moved forward, turning slightly, like he was going to sit next to her on the bed. Without thinking, she shied back, almost flinching.

A hurt expression darted across his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and rounded the bed to sink into the chair.

“James,” she started, but then didn’t know where to go from there.

She drew her legs up, thankful that magical hospital gowns could actually keep themselves shut, and turned around to watch him. He passed a hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew.

Surely she had to have a memory of him somewhere – a kiss or a laugh or a fight – _something_ …. But there was only a gaping cavern where her memories were supposed to be.

She wouldn’t apologize to him – it wasn’t her fault he looked so miserable – but she offered, “I’d remember if I could.”

He heaved a sigh, straightening his glasses. “Of course you would. I’m much too lovable to want to forget.”

She laughed, low and soft. “You are always confident, aren’t you?”

“So’re you. It’s what made us such a good pair. That, and the excellent sex.”

She didn’t feel confident now. She felt—still weird. Mostly weird. And bothered that James was upset. She might not have remembered him, but she still had compassion for someone looking so defeated.

Her memories were gone, but that might actually prove to be a useful distraction. If she kept him talking, he wouldn’t have time to brood.

“Would you tell me about my life?” she asked.

He gave a humorless smile. “If you like.”

“Don’t take the mickey, though.”

“No, I—I shouldn’t have, earlier, that was…idiotic. Even for me. Truth from here on out. Promise.”

“All right, then…. I think I’m nineteen. Is that right?”

“No. You’re one hundred and five, you cougar.”

“ _James_.”

“That was it, promise. It’s out of my system now.”

She tucked her bare feet under her. “Nineteen and married,” she said contemplatively. “How long have we been husband and wife?”

“Eighteen.”

“That’s awfully young.”

“Well, I don’t know if we’d done it if it weren’t for the—ah. Right. You wouldn’t remember… But there were some good reasons.”

“Besides the fact that I loved you? Hold on, was I pregnant? Oh, no, I haven’t got a child, have I? I couldn’t stand it if I’d forgotten my own kid—”

“ _No._ It was—you love me. You did love me. I mean…it wasn’t that complicated, but there were other reasons I’ll tell you about later. If…if they can’t fix you.”

“What sorts of reasons?”

“Look, you’ve got no reason to trust me, but please, I—I don’t want to have explain it unless the Healers absolutely can’t figure things out.”

“It’s awful, then?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Oh.”

Asking about their relationship, or whatever awful thing had prodded them into getting married, wasn’t exactly having the desired effect of cheering up James.

“Where do I live?” she asked.

“We live in a small village in the West Country. Godric’s Hollow. We bought a nice cottage there.”

“Oh. I suppose we could at this age, with your money.”

“You painted several of the rooms yellow. You thought it was cheery.”

“I do like yellow.”

“Do you?”

“It’s funny, the things I do remember. I remember my parents’ house.”

“But not ours.”

“I guess not.” She sighed. There had to be some safe topic for them to discuss. “What do I do for a living?”

He pressed the fingers of one hand to his temple. “It’s related to the awfulness. But rest assured you’re doing good work.”

“Was that what I was doing last night? When I lost my memory?”

“Yes, but you….” He closed his eyes. “You know, you wouldn’t have stopped doing it, even if you’d known it would end up like this.”

“You’re only making me more curious.”

He opened his eyes, and gave a rueful smile. “That’s Lily Evans in there, all right.”

“In the flesh,” she said weakly.

They lapsed into silence, James staring at his lap, Lily plucking at a few fraying threads on the bottom of her hospital gown.

She never would have guessed how awkward it would be to have amnesia.

Because it was amnesia. She knew the word perfectly well. Only she would have expected amnesia to feel more…amnesiac. More _anything_ , other than the vast nothingness available to her, and the niggling sense that something was wrong.

Amnesia was supposed to be confusion, and disorientation, and—and she didn’t know why she thought that, she’d never studied amnesia, but it just seemed like people would know they were missing things.

Like they’d know they were missing people who were apparently the loves of their lives.

James hadn’t called her that in any sarcastic or ironic way. He’d been dramatic about it, but he’d meant it.

And now here she was, suddenly unable to even recognize his face.

“You must have loved me a lot,” she said.

He drooped further in his seat.

“I mean,” she quickly amended, “you must still love me a lot. To be so upset.”

“Well…yes.”

Any bluster or spectacle had apparently drained out of him, which made Lily’s heart twinge.

“I’m glad I married someone who loves me,” she said.

“You’re glad you married someone rich, you mean.”

“You know that’s not what matters to me. If you love me, that is.”

“No, yeah, I…I’m not being fair.”

The Healers had to come soon. They had to fix her, not just for her own sake, but because James was breaking apart in front of her. She didn’t want to inflict this sort of pain on anyone, even if it wasn’t her fault in the first place.

She glanced at the door. “Where the hell is Sirius?”

“He probably went to get a coffee, took a piss, and then went to find Healers.”

“You don’t really think that.”

“No. I don’t. He wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Or to you. From what I saw.”

“No. He wouldn’t.” James dropped his hands to his lap. “Look, Lily, I—I need you to know, that even if they can’t fix it—even if you never remember, I’m always going to—Algernon?”

She followed the sudden dart of his eyes toward the door, where a mangy orange cat had darted in, heading directly toward the bed.

A sharp pain exploded in her head. Her palm flew up to press against her forehead, her eyes squeezing shut, her world shut down to the invisible force that felt like it was trying to cleave her brain in two—

Someone was calling something out, maybe her name, but there was the more important matter of she couldn’t listen, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t _think_ —

And then it was gone.

She’d collapsed onto her side at some point. She moved her hand off her face, but couldn’t see anything beyond Algernon’s wide face in front of hers, his rough tongue lapping at her nose.

She laughed. “You reckless cat. They’ll throw you out of here if they catch you.”

James picked Algernon up, eliciting a hiss and a scowl as Algernon tried to squirm out of his hands.

“Christ, Lily, what the hell was that?”

She beamed up at him, her stupid, loving husband who’d spilled coffee on himself twice in one day.

Who’d been ecstatic that she’d agreed to go out with him, not even knowing who he was. Who’d given her shit even when she was amnesiac, because that was what they did.

“The correct question,” she said, “is _alright, Evans_?”

Algernon and James stilled in unison.

James dropped Algernon onto the bed. Algernon, of course, landed gracefully, and shot a peeved look up at James.

“Oh, you are fucking _joking_ ,” James said. “ _Algernon_ triggered it?”

“You aren’t yourself without him.”

James crossed his arms. “This is fucking ridiculous. I refuse to let this happen. My _cat_ was not the fucking fix to your problem—”

“Oi. Potter.”

“What?”

She bolted up, grabbed the front of his robes, and tugged him into a swift kiss.

After, she said, “Would you just be happy I remember everything?”

He tried to turn away, but their faces were too close together yet, their foreheads almost brushing against each other.

His cheeks red, he said, “Fine. I suppose.”

“Come _on_ ,” came Sirius’s voice from the corridor.

“Stop it!” answered another voice. “Let me _go_ , I am a _Healer_ , this is not how things work here—”

Sirius came into view through the door, physically dragging along a small woman by the arm.

“I _told_ you,” he said, tugging at her with his full weight, “that I wasn’t—waiting—any—longer—oh.” He stopped, and took in Lily’s and James’s respective positions.

“Is that a _cat_?” the woman asked, tugging herself loose.

Sirius let her go without looking at her. “See, this is what I expected to find earlier. Randy buggers.”

“This is a _hospital_ ,” said the Healer.

“Yes,” James told the Healer, “that’s why we would. It’s very hygienic here.”

Lily rolled her eyes and shoved James away from her. Algernon settled into her lap at once, deliberately bumping his head against her stomach.

“Well,” she said, “everything seems to be in order, so can I go now?”

The Healer looked awfully mutinous, but she was, in the end, still a Healer. A real, proper one, who might’ve had a nice bedside manner if Sirius hadn’t just manhandled her.

“Not until I check you over,” she declared. “But first the cat has to go.”

She, of course, lost the battle against Algernon’s stubbornness, but Lily whispered in his ear to go hide somewhere nearby on the floor for a bit. “We’ll get out quicker that way,” she told him, and he obediently trotted off.

The Healer turned out to have perfectly acceptable bedside manner once the task was at hand. She had Lily perform all sorts of mental exercises and tests, during which Lily kept sneaking glances at James.

He stood at the foot of the bed, ostensibly having an argument with Sirius about the Harpies game two days earlier, but more often catching Lily’s eye and slipping into a goofy grin.

She remembered everything, or at least it seemed that way. There was no more cavern of emptiness, no pervasive sense that something just wasn’t quite right.

She had a ridiculous husband and a ornery cat and a cottage with yellow rooms and—and a job, of sorts.

Some part of her wished those particular memories might’ve stayed lost to the abyss, actually. Except her memory loss wouldn’t have meant Voldemort stopped terrorizing the country, and she was hardly about to choose ignorance over something if she could help stop it.

But at least she wasn’t going through it all alone. At least she had James and Remus and Padfoot and Wormy and all the others alongside her. Those memories she definitely did not want to give up, even if it meant remembering the Death Eaters.

It took an interminably long time to sort all the hospital business out – a specialist had to come in, James had to fill out paperwork, Lily had to change into her own clothes. Sirius disappeared at one point, apparently to fetch takeaway and bring it back to them at the cottage. But finally she and James stood together, alone at last and ready to leave.

She twined the fingers of one hand into his. “Hello, Mr. Potter,” she said.

“Hello, Mrs. Potter.”

“I do like it when you call me Evans.”

“Yes, I know, but it just seemed weird in that context—”

She quieted him by pressing her mouth over his, one hand settling on the crook of his neck.

“Alright, Evans?” he asked, positively beaming. “No more head injuries ever, okay?”

She couldn’t really promise that—he was right that she’d keep working for the Order, despite the risk of memory loss or worse—but she was willing to pretend such things were under their control.

“Deal,” she said, and pulled him toward the door. “Now let’s go grab that coffee.”


End file.
